


The Way I Loved You

by HelenLittle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Kinda) Slow Burn, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Infidelity, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29865159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenLittle/pseuds/HelenLittle
Summary: Hermione gets an internship at the ministry but ends up working with the last person she expected. Told as a series of scenes spaced over approx. 9 months. Loosely inspired by Taylor Swift's 'The Way I Loved You'.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 98





	The Way I Loved You

The slamming of the door was still rattling in Hermione’s ears more than half an hour after Ron had left. She was frozen to the spot, breathing in and breathing out, over and over. She was surprised by her own reaction. When she had imagined this scenario in her head over the past few days - months really - she had seen herself crying, breaking down sobbing, begging for understanding, for forgiveness. Or perhaps she would have been angry, screaming back at him, shrilly, till her throat was raw. What she had not imagined was the calm way in which she had explained that she was ending their relationship and why. More than that she had not imagined the relief she felt, the lightness in her chest, knowing now that he had left and it was indeed over. She was aware of grabbing her coat from the hook to her left hand side and sliding it on over her t-shirt and leggings. Shoving her feet into the beat-up trainers she only ever wore to take the bins out, she just remembered to grab her keys before the door was slamming, this time behind her, as she strode purposefully down the street. 

If she had been asked where she was going at 11pm on a Tuesday night, in the rain, dressed in what could just about count as pyjamas, she wouldn’t have been able to answer. But her feet knew where they were going, the same way it’s possible to make it home safely after a long day, yet not remember the journey at all. As she was splashing her way through puddles memories starting encroaching into her mind, memories of the past year, of the events that led up to her earlier confrontation. 

*

She was running late. If there was one thing she hated most in the world it was letting people down, which, in Hermione’s book, included being late. Even if it was only five minutes. She tapped her wand incessantly against the outside of her thigh as the lift stopped at every one of the four levels it possibly could on its way to her destination. What an impression to make on her first day working at the ministry? She didn’t even have the benefit of anonymity normally offered at this point in your career, as of course everyone in the Wizarding World already knew her as Hermione Granger, best friend of The Boy who Lived, one third of The Golden Trio, and the brightest witch of her age. It hadn’t come as much of a surprise when she had been accepted onto the new internship program at the ministry, but she couldn’t help but feel that it hadn’t been earned, it had been bestowed upon her with the victory of the war. With no worthwhile qualifications to speak of – O.W.Ls were hardly going to get her anywhere - this was her best hope at pursuing her ambition of bettering the Wizarding World. How would it look if she turned up late, without a care in the world? She was determined to use this opportunity to prove she deserved it in the first place. 

Finally, the lift dinged and announced her arrival at the Department of International Magical Cooperation. She left the lift in as much of a rush as she could manage in a skirt suit and sensible heels, and scanned the corridor, looking for the number 506 on any of the doors she passed. Now approximately eight minutes late, she found the required room and entered, prepared to gush her apologies profusely. What she was not prepared for was to be greeted with the back of a bright blond head of hair, attached to none other than the body of Draco Malfoy. 

“You’ve got to be having a laugh,” he sneered, almost to himself, when he turned to see her figure in the doorway. He was sat in one of two chairs on the door-side of the desk, with his long legs stretched leisurely in front of him. 

“Malfoy! What on earth are you doing here?” she spluttered breathlessly. She hadn’t seen Malfoy or any of his family since the trials. Draco had been excused with probation on account of his age and his Mother had been acquitted following Harry’s testimony. Lucius had been sentenced to life – quite rightly in Hermione’s opinion. Surely Malfoy’s presence here was some kind of mistake? Had she entered the wrong room in her rush? But as she glanced to double check the number on the door she saw that it was 506 indeed and if any mistake had been made it wasn’t hers. 

“And you’re supposed to be the clever one?” he drawled, turning his head away from her. “Clearly I’m here for the internship induction.” His voice was just as she remembered it, bored, arrogant, entitled. And then what he had said registered with her. Here for the internship induction. The internship that had two spots available, and only two. The truth was sitting right there in front of her, just ready for her to grasp, but it took a minute for her usually sharp brain to put it together. Surely, she wouldn’t be working with him? The one who orchestrated Dumbledore’s death? The one who stood by his family’s side at the Battle of Hogwarts? The one who tormented her throughout her school days and introduced her to that horrible slur - that eventually became carved on her arm in his home? Fate can be a cruel mistress, and Hermione quietly questioned what on earth she could have done in a past life to possibly deserve this? Just as this thought ran through her head a middle-aged, balding man entered the room, a thick folder of paperwork in hand. 

“Ah, Miss Granger, you have arrived! I’m Edward Scott, please take a seat and we can get started.” 

...

After about an hour of being informed what the internship would actually entail and filling in the contracts, Hermione left the room desperate for a breath of air. She had made it half way down the corridor towards the lift when she felt a hand land roughly on her shoulder and pull her back. Malfoy backed her against a wall with his tall frame and lowered his head to hiss at her in a threatening tone, “Granger, we need to get some things clear -”

“Bugger off, Malfoy, I have nothing to say to you!” she spat back at him. 

“Good, keep it that way then. I have no intention of giving up this internship, and I would like to get through this year with as little interaction as possible. You stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.” 

“Quite frankly, Malfoy, I couldn’t care less about accommodating your needs. If you step one of your little pureblood toes out of line I will go directly to Kingsley and refuse to work with a spoiled, prejudiced, ferret like yourself. Do you really think he’ll take the side of a reformed death eater over that of Hermione Granger?” Her heart was thumping and she could feel the sweat gathering under her arms but she lifted her chin, stared straight into his cold, grey eyes and refused to give an inch. She’d be damned if she allowed her school bully to bully her now. 

He narrowed his eyes, “Are you threatening me?” 

Despite the height difference their noses were mere inches apart. Hermione could feel his breath brushing the front few strands of her curls. She held her nerve and gritted her teeth. 

“I thought you were supposed to be smart too? Yes, that is a threat.” It took everything in her power not to break eye contact and she could feel her anxiety bubbling in the pit of her stomach. From the corner of her eye she could have sworn she saw the corner of his mouth twitch, no doubt a reaction to restraining himself from firing several discriminatory slurs her way. 

“Fine, threaten all you want; but I mean it, Granger - stay out of my way.” And with that he turned on his heel and was gone, his tall figure storming elegantly down the corridor. 

Hermione allowed her weight to be supported by the wall as her knees buckled. She took in a couple of deep breaths and swallowed the lump of dread in her throat. She wanted – needed – this opportunity, she reminded herself. Summoning all the Gryffindor courage she had left she gathered herself together, clenched her trembling hands into fists, and headed for the lift. 

*

Two weeks after the induction, Hermione was falling into an unsettling routine. She would get up at 6.30am sharp and ready herself for work. After her unfortunate lateness on her first day she made sure to arrive at the office she and Malfoy shared by 8.30am. She didn’t officially have to be there until nine, but she had quickly realised that if she got in early she could make herself a cup of tea and settle in to her tasks for the day quickly, without having to interact with him when he arrived at ten to. 

Hermione had come to the realisation that the less she interacted with Malfoy, the better. Harry had encouraged her to keep an open mind when he had found out they would be working together, but that was much easier said than done when dealing with someone so openly unpleasant as the Malfoy heir. After a few strained attempts at conversation she had abandoned forcing the matter and found that most of her days were spent in silence. They would interact minimally, passing manila envelopes back and forth as needed, but that was it. But there is only so much silence a person can take. Especially when you live alone as Hermione did. 

Half way through her third week, she strolled into the office as the clock ticked half past, relaxed as usual, to see Malfoy already sat at his desk. His platinum head was bent over a pile of paperwork and some interdepartmental memos. He didn’t even glance up as she loudly settled her belongings next to her desk and conjured some water to fill the kettle. Deciding that since he had upset their comfortable routine she could do the same - she broke the silence. 

“Cup of tea?” she asked, half curious to see if she would even get a response. Her back was up slightly at the prospect of Malfoy taking one of his duties seriously enough to be in before her. At school she had been aware that he did well in classes, but where she would take any opportunity to go the extra mile, handing work in early, staying behind at the end of class, he had seemed to do the bare minimum. 

He raised his head and considered her offer for a second, then nodded his head stiffly, taking her somewhat by surprise. “How do you take it?” she prompted. 

“Black, two sugars.” She supposed ‘please’ would be too much of a stretch for him. Shaking her head slightly she couldn’t help the next words that slipped from her mouth. 

“Not good for your teeth.” 

She could’ve slapped herself as soon as she said it. One for reminding herself of her parents, and two for reminding Malfoy of her parents. 

Quickly, she changed the subject, “What brings you in so early?” 

Malfoy sighed, as through frustrated with her questioning already, “You know you’re not the only one taking this job seriously, Granger. I found out last night that there are representatives from Romania arriving at the end of the week and I’m still in the process of organising their travel and accommodation, never mind scheduling the meetings.” 

Hermione considered this as she absently swirled her wand to mix the sugar into his tea. Adding only a dash of milk to her own she levitated his mug over to his desk. She took a second to consider his appearance. The dishevelled nature of his hair gave off the impression of having had his hand run through it several times already this morning, and the porcelain skin beneath his eyes seemed stained an inky blue. 

“Let me know if it’s anything I can help with.” 

“Believe it or not, I’m perfectly capable of doing my job,” he hissed, through gritted teeth. 

For about five seconds Hermione considered leaving the topic alone and going back to their usual silence. But for some reason she decided to push her luck. 

“I don’t doubt that. What are they coming here for?” 

“They’re supposed to be meeting with the DCMC; something about dragons,” he responded, whilst transfiguring some parchment into the trademark paper aeroplanes that form the basis of most communication within the ministry. 

“Oh, I’ll need to tell Ron! His brother works with dragons there.” She settled herself at her desk and took a comforting sip of her drink. 

“At least one Weasley had the sense to escape that hovel they call a home.” 

Although this was an unsurprising comment for Malfoy to make, Hermione struggled to swallow as she suddenly grew angry. She slammed her mug down on the desk. “You don’t get to talk about The Burrow. Just because you have no understanding of what it is actually like to be part of a loving family it doesn’t mean –” 

Malfoy’s voice grew deathly cold, “Do not talk to me about my family as if you have any idea –”

“Don’t insult my friends then!” she retorted. 

“You are the one who started the conversation…” Surprisingly, Hermione had the sense that he was trying to control the level of rage present in his voice. 

“Forgive me for thinking we could have something resembling a civil working relationship.” 

“Fine, Granger, thank you for the tea. Now if you don’t mind I have work to be getting on with.” And with that he bowed his head back down to his task. And the office returned to silence. 

It would be another two weeks before Hermione would attempt to make conversation again. 

*

Hermione’s heels were clacking off the damp pavement at an absurd pace as she tried to keep up with Malfoy’s long strides. It was taking most of her concentration to avoid slipping on the damp leaves that littered the ground, especially considering she had had a glass or two of wine at dinner. She pulled her coat tighter around her as she tried to fight off the October chill. 

“Malfoy, I am not finished speaking to you!” she exclaimed loudly, hoping that she could at least get him to slow his pace slightly. 

“Why does that not surprise me?” She could feel his exasperation even through the back of his expensive wool coat. 

“I just think that the way you kept butting in was extremely unprofessional –”

“It was the only way to get a word in edgeways! You were dominating the entire conversation!”

“This was an important diplomatic meeting –”

“Please, it was dinner –” 

“Where important diplomatic discussions were taking place. It was important that despite being interns we made a good impression and made the Ministry’s stance on the trade matter clear.” 

He stopped in his tracks. “And you think I’m incapable of that.” 

It was a statement rather than a question. At that exact moment the Eiffel Tower behind him began to light up in its hourly display. They had stopped on one of the many bridges over the River Seine.

“Well in case you hadn’t noticed you do come off abrasive at times!” 

“Yes, when I’m dealing with you and your intolerable friends.” She could feel his eyes roll. “But I was actually brought up in polite society where I learned how to have civilised dinner conversation. You forget that I was bred for this world!” 

Hermione felt all the blood in her body flood into her cheeks as rage flared in her stomach. Her hands shook as she squeezed them into fists. She hadn’t even noticed that it had begun to rain. “Ahhh, I see. So you would rather the Mudblood kept her mouth shut, knew her place and let you handle all the business discussion? Is that it, Malfoy?” 

If anything this made him even angrier than he already was. He took a step towards her with one hand raised in front of him. “At any point in the past two months that we have been working together have I ever raised your blood status? Have I ever acted as if it made you incompetent? If anything you have been treating me like I am the incompetent one!” 

“Forgive me if I’m having a hard time working with the person who tormented me all through my six years at school!” 

“Here we go…” Something about the expression on his face told her that this time she may have pushed her luck too far. It was somewhere between fury and desperation. “It’s obviously about you. Did it ever occur to you that I might have taken this job to salvage some semblance of respect for myself? For my family name? Is that so hard to comprehend? That I might want more for my life than being branded a failed death eater?” The rain was a small torrent now and gave the impression of tears as the drops rolled down his cheeks. His confession – she couldn’t think of any other word to describe it – had taken her completely by surprise.

“I… I don’t –” Hermione struggled, but couldn’t quite decide on what she wanted to say, and so settled on silence being the best option. Malfoy took a few deep breaths and then stepped back. 

“I’m going for a walk. I will see you in the hotel reception tomorrow morning. Nine am sharp, don’t be late.” And with that he strode away from her, back in the direction they had originally came from. 

…

Once again Hermione found herself waiting anxiously in a lift. She had spent the previous night tossing and turning in bed, running her interaction with Malfoy over and over in her head. She had thought back to days in the office spent in silence, brief interludes where they would have passing civil conversation, and of course to the dinner last night and the events afterwards. The image of his damp face, showing the most vulnerability she had seen from him in her life, haunted her. That wasn’t something she had ever expected from him. And Hermione didn’t deal well with the unexpected. She had come to the conclusion that it was probably as close to an apology as she would ever get from him – the implication being that he was putting the past firmly in the past. He had been correct in a few of the things he had said. He hadn’t made any comments about her heritage or blood since they had begun working together. In fact, most of his snide comments had been directed at Harry or Ron, which she couldn’t exactly criticise considering how often they would make insulting comments about him. 

She couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that Malfoy had magically transformed in the six months that had passed since the end of the war, but her forgiving nature told her that he deserved as much of a chance as anyone else to move on with his life. And so she resolved herself to move on from the past too. 

This was the revelation that led to her walking determinedly up to Malfoy where he sat in the hotel foyer, with one long leg crossed over the other, scanning the copy of the Daily Prophet that he had essentially demanded be made available when they checked in two days ago. She stood in front of him, summoning some courage, before she cleared her throat. He lowered the paper just enough to see who had sought his attention, before one blond eyebrow quirked slightly. 

“I owe you an apology –” she started. 

“Really, Granger, I’d rather you didn’t.” He began to rise from his seat and lifted his suit jacket from the arm of the chair where it had been folded. 

“No, I was wrong. I made an assumption when we began working together that was wrong. You are perfectly capable of doing this job and I will keep that in mind from now on.” She nodded, to herself more than anything else, pleased that she had been able to say her piece. 

“Are you done? Good, let’s go. It’s a Saturday after all and I’d like to get home.” And that was all he had to say on the matter. He didn’t vocalise an acceptance of her apology, nor did they agree to a truce of any kind. 

Yet, when she arrived into work on Monday morning he was working away with his head down, and on her desk was a cup of tea, milk no sugar, charmed to keep warm. She couldn’t help the slight smile that stole across her face and knew then that her apology had been accepted. 

*

Despite it being just after noon, the sun was sitting low in the sky as Hermione appeared outside of The Burrow. It was one of those days where the frost hadn’t yet thawed and she wondered if it really would before the sun set around five o’clock. November had brought with it cold weather and short days. She headed straight for the kitchen, knowing that at this time on a Sunday that that was where the family would most likely be congregated. 

As usual, Molly had an apron tied around her waist and was busy enchanting wooden spoons to stir at the appropriate times. When she saw Hermione enter the kitchen she gave her the warmest, most comforting smile she had received in a while and began busying around her. 

“Hermione, dear, you’ve arrived! Look how red your cheeks are, bless you, you must be frozen. Come have a seat and I’ll make you a cup of tea – RON, HERMIONE’S HERE!” 

All of a sudden it was like a herd of elephants were coming down the spindly wooden stairs and Hermione wondered to herself, not for the first time, how one person could make so much noise. Ron spotted her immediately and made his way to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“Long time no see. How you doing ‘Mione?” he said, as he ruffled her hair. She secretly hated when he did that, but she wrapped her arm around his waist and gave him a squeeze anyway. 

“Fine, fine. How was work yesterday? Diagon Alley busy?” She asked as Ron settled himself next to her at the table. 

“Bloody hell, busy is an understatement – it feels like everyone is getting ready for Christmas already! If I had a galleon for every clueless mum and dad who didn’t have any idea what they were actually buying,” he chuckled. 

“Those poor parents,” Hermione laughed, while shaking her head. Just at that point Molly amplified her voice to call the rest of the family to lunch, almost deafening Hermione and Ron in the process. 

…

Two hours later, Hermione was stood at the sink, souring pans the muggle way. It had become part of the Sunday afternoon routine for Ginny and her to tidy the kitchen whilst the boys had a game of Quiddich and Molly got to put her feet up. To anyone looking in from the outside it might have looked like a very old fashioned set up, the girls in the kitchen and the boys playing sports, but it was the only time in the week where the two witches got to have some time to themselves and catch up on life. 

“…so anyway, in the end up they decided that they couldn’t refuse to give me a cover story for much longer. Dropping Harry’s name every now and then doesn’t hurt either!” Ginny laughed, as she dried the plates piled on the drying rack. 

“Quite right! You probably know more about Quiddich than those bores put together...” Hermione replied, focussed on a particularly tough spot of dirt. 

“How has your work been this week? Ron says you’ve been really busy.” 

“Just the usual, to be honest, I think it’ll be like this till the end of the year unfortunately.” 

“Malfoy still on his best behaviour?” 

“Yes, since Paris we’ve actually been civil with each other –”

“I didn’t know he had it in him –”

“Ginny,” Hermione scolded, “he’s been very – what’s the word – agreeable? That doesn’t seem quite right. We still make each other tea in the morning, but more than that, he’s been helpful. He really saved me on a potions trade this week. I was getting nowhere but he sends one owl to a business connection of some kind and suddenly the whole thing is sorted. I had been at my wits end for days!” 

“Well that’s nice of him I suppose,” Ginny hummed to herself. “Are you not worried about them keeping him on at the end of the year instead of you?” 

“Not particularly. You know me, Ginny, I mainly took this internship as a stepping stone to Magical Creatures, but this is something I could see Draco being very good at.” 

Ginny’s eyebrows hit the roof, “Draco?” 

Hermione looked appropriately apologetic. “Habit. I can hardly call him Malfoy in front of Edward.” 

“I’m glad it’s going well though ‘Mione. But remember, I’m not far away if you ever need a sly Bat-Bogey hex aimed at him!” At this Hermione couldn’t help the peal of laughter that escaped her lips. But then her expression faded as she remembered something else that had happened this week. “What is it?” Ginny enquired. 

Hermione sighed, “Theo Nott came into the office this week, do you remember him?” Ginny nodded. “As soon as I saw him I was fully prepared to be on the receiving end of some colourful slurs. It was that way I was imagining what I was going to reply before he even opened his mouth. But he only really said hello, made one comment about my hair and then –”

“What? Do I need to hex him?” 

“No, Dra – Malfoy just seemed to aim a look at him, you know, like a warning, and he left. Said he would wait for him down in the lobby.” The scrubbing brush was now moving of its own accord, seemingly fed up with the shoddy job that Hermione was performing. 

“Well, that doesn’t sound bad…” 

“No, it wasn’t – it’s just…” 

“What?” Ginny was searching the brunette’s face for any clues as to what was going through her head. 

“Nothing, never mind.” She shook her head and her curls bounced. “Let’s get these dishes done and then we can put our feet up for ten before the boys come back.” 

…

It was nearly eleven by the time Hermione and Ron went to bed. She didn’t usually spend the night at The Burrow, preferring instead to have her Monday morning routine in her flat, but Ron had pointed out it had been three weeks since the last time they spent the night together. Their relationship hadn’t always been like this, but it hadn’t had the best of starts either. After Fred’s death it didn’t seem an appropriate time for them to be all over each other, not that Ron was in the right place for that anyway. But about mid-way through the summer Hermione began renting her flat in muggle London which gave them the opportunity to explore the physical side of their relationship. Then in August she started her internship and work got in the way. If Hermione was truly honest with herself, she would admit that she didn’t miss that aspect of their relationship as much as she should, and so she probably played less of a part in initiating it than she should. 

Afterwards, Hermione lay on her side in Ron’s single bed, with his arm wrapped tightly around her waist and his snoring in her ear. All she could think about was work, and so for the two hours it took her to fall asleep she made mental to-do lists for the week ahead. The last mental note she made before she fell asleep was that she should try to get her hands on some custard creams for Draco to try with his morning tea. 

*

Her eyes scanned the expanse of the ballroom for the tenth or eleventh time that evening. Hermione was aware of Ginny and Harry chatting on her right but she had missed the conversation entirely. Ron appeared at her left, a glass of champagne in each hand. She took one from him as he kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear. “You really do look beautiful tonight.” Hermione smiled gratefully. She couldn’t deny that she had spent a little more time on her appearance than usual. She had chosen a simple, navy blue gown for the Ministry Christmas ball, and had managed to charm her reckless curls into a smooth cascade of ringlets over one shoulder. 

Hermione had just tuned into Harry’s most recent anecdote from Auror training when a voice drawled behind them that sent a twinge straight into her stomach. 

“Well if it isn’t Saint Potter and his band of sidekicks.” 

“Malfoy, not looking too twitchy this evening I see?” Harry retorted, chuckling slightly before offering his hand for Draco to shake. Hermione was still surprised at the civility that had existed between the two men since Narcissa’s trial, even now that she was on much better terms with the wizard herself. She turned to face him, carefully schooling her expression into one of polite disinterest, noting Pansy Parkinson at his side in a form-fitting silver evening dress. Something deep inside of her twisted slightly, but she smiled in spite of it. 

“Granger, I see you’ve managed to tame that animal that lives on your head –”

“Watch your mouth Malfoy,” Ron seethed, as he pulled himself up to his full height. Hermione placed a cautioning hand on his arm. 

“He was joking, Ron,” she murmured calmly. “You don’t look so bad yourself this evening, Malfoy.” And he didn’t. His blond hair looked feather soft, falling just above his piercing grey eyes; his dress robes were simple but clearly expensive, and dear Merlin, fit him sinfully well, accentuating his height and the masculine breadth of his shoulders. Again, Hermione felt that twist in her gut. “Pansy, how are you?” she asked politely, trying to avoid silence before it became awkward. 

“As well as can be expected considering I’ve been dragged to a ministry event.” She quirked one perfectly tweezed eyebrow. “But Draco was just about to find us some champagne I believe?” 

“Ahhh yes, I did mention something about that. Enjoy your evening folks.” With that he strolled away, arm in arm with Parkinson and Hermione’s eyes followed them all the way across the room to the refreshment table.

“I don’t know how you can stand working with that git ‘Mione.” Ron’s tone of voice suggested that Malfoy’s appearance had sullied his entire evening. 

“He’s not so bad, you really should give him a chance.” Hermione was unsure why she was trying, she had never really expected Ron to get on with Draco. Some fences were just too broken to mend.

…

It was approximately two hours and fifteen minutes later that Hermione found herself outside, leaning against a wall about twenty feet away from the fire exit. Ron not being much of a dancer she had found herself on the side lines, sipping mindlessly on champagne and trying to tune out his argument with Seamus about which Quiddich team would win the league this year. Her attention had been drawn time and time again to a certain blond head sweeping gracefully across the dance floor, his arms wrapped around one of the most attractive witches at the whole ball. After her third glass had been emptied she decided the best course of action before she made a fool of herself would be to get some fresh air, and so she made for the exit discretely when Ron disappeared off to the bathroom. 

To tell the truth she wasn’t in the mood for a celebration of any kind. The impending holiday season had been bringing with it feelings of dread where there would normally be excitement. She could feel herself reminiscing about what Christmas used to mean, the rituals she had grown attached to, before the war ripped them away from under her. Her eyes stung and before she could stop them a few stray tears slipped down her cheeks. 

“Don’t tell me Weaselbee stepped on your toe?” 

Hermione jumped, and then turned her face to discretely wipe away the evidence of her melancholy. 

“No,” she shook her head, “He’s not much of a dancer I’m afraid. Where’s Pansy?” 

Draco shrugged, “Powdering her nose, or so she said. I imagine she’s actually found some wealthy widower to chat up.” He leaned himself against the wall a few inches from her. 

“I thought… I mean, you aren’t…?” 

“Together?” His face scrunched up, “Merlin no, not since fifth year, but I could hardly turn up to one of these things alone. Handsome man like myself, I would end up getting mobbed.” 

Hermione laughed soundlessly. “Ever modest, Malfoy.” 

“What’s the matter with you anyway? I thought you were intolerable before but you’ve really outdone yourself this week.” 

“It’s Christmas,” she said by way of explanation. 

“I had gathered that…” 

“It’s just…not the same. It’ll never be the same.” 

“No,” he agreed. “It won’t.” 

They stood in silence for a few minutes before Hermione spoke again. “My parents are in Australia. I altered their memories and sent them there before the war, to keep them safe.” 

She could feel his eyes on her but kept her gaze firmly forward. “You can’t…?” 

“Fix them? Give them their memories back? I don’t know. I haven’t tried.” She chewed on the corner of her lip. “Theoretically, it’s possible. But what if it doesn’t work?” 

For a long minute he didn’t say anything. “It couldn’t make it any worse, could it?” 

“Optimism from Draco Malfoy, never did I think I’d see the day.” He snorted at that. She waited a beat before speaking again. “Anyway, never mind me. Moaning away as if I’m the only person in the world with problems. You can’t exactly be looking forward to Christmas at the Manor.” 

“I thought we had an agreement not to discuss my family –”

“I know, I know. I’m just saying it must be hard for you too,” She looked down at her feet. 

For a minute he looked as if he was considering whether to say anything at all. Then he sighed. “The Ministry haven’t allowed us back into the Manor. Apparently father had managed to collect a great deal of dark artefacts over the years and they’re still taking inventory. I’ve been staying in one of the London townhouses but mother is in a cottage in Surrey.”

“Will you be spending Christmas together?” Hermione prompted. 

“Part of it.” She could see his hand clenching and unclenching by his side. “She wants to visit him. In Azkaban. I’ve told her that I have no intention of ever seeing him again but she… Despite what he put our family through she still loves him.” 

Hermione felt her heart clench at the clear pain he was experiencing. “Draco, I’m so sorry.” She didn’t know what exactly she was sorry for, but it was all she could think to say.

“You bloody, bleeding-hearted Gryffindors,” he scoffed, but it lacked malice. She raised her head to observe him, leaning against the wall, face tilted up to the starry sky, one hand pushing his hair back. He was perfectly illuminated in the moonlight, the glow catching the straight lines of his nose, cheekbones and jaw. He really was remarkable to look at. With the pallor of his skin and hair, the pristine dress robes, the tortured expression, he could’ve been a hero from one of her mother’s black and white films. Absently, she wondered what it would feel like if it were her hand in his hair; but then he looked down and their eyes locked. Hermione knew at that point she’d had too much champagne because the ground felt dangerously unstable beneath her feet. It felt like every one of her senses had been invaded. His slate grey eyes were boring a hole in her soul; his cologne, though not overpowering, was caressing her nose with every breath; she could hear the noise from the party inside but it felt dangerously far away; and even though it was close to freezing there was heat radiating from deep inside her, keeping her from feeling the chill in the air. His hand left his hair and seemed to pause in the air in front of her face for one second, then two, just long enough to send the butterflies in her stomach wild, before it finally settled at his side. Their bubble burst, the moment passed. His eyes were now fixed on something, someone, over her shoulder. 

“Hermione?” She distantly registered someone saying her name as she tried to pull herself back to reality. 

“Hermione?” This time she turned and saw that Ginny had appeared from the same door she had exited five long minutes ago. “There you are! Ron said he went to the bathroom and you disappeared.” 

“Sorry, I just needed some fresh air.” Hermione forced a smile onto her face. “Too much champagne,” she laughed, humourlessly. 

“Granger, Weasley…” Malfoy nodded towards Ginny as he pushed himself off the wall and her eyes followed him as he disappeared back into the party. As the door closed behind him Hermione suddenly felt like she could think clearly again. 

…

The first thing Hermione was aware of the next morning was a pulse beating somewhere vaguely behind her eyes. There was light coming into the room that made her reluctant to open her eyes lest the headache get worse. But then Ron let loose an unholy grunt next to her and she decided that that might give her a worse one. 

Opening one eye at a time, she registered the shape of a great bird in the window, which slowly came into focus revealing itself to be an eagle owl. It tilted its head when it saw her watching it then turned and spread its great wings to leave. Hermione got up, gingerly, and made her way over to her bedroom window. On the windowsill outside sat a package, wrapped in brown paper. She unlocked the window and slid it up, questioning what on earth an eagle owl would be leaving for her. Lifting the package she recognised it immediately as a book. Settling herself on the floor below the window she unwrapped the hardback tome, curious to see what it was and who it was from. As she removed the book a slip of stiff white paper fell to the floor at her feet, but she was focused on the title: The Principles and Complexities of Memory Magic. Her fingertips traced the gold lettering and she knew who had sent it before she even lifted the note. 

_I remembered we had a copy of this in the Malfoy library. Thought it might be useful.  
D.M. _

*

The last of the sun’s heat settled on Hermione’s skin as she leaned back in her chair, stretched her legs out in front of her and closed her eyes in contentment. 

“Look at you, lounging there. Like a bloody cat soaking up the last of the sun.” Her companion eyed her, clearly amused, from his position in the shade. 

She opened one eye and peeked at him, sipping on his espresso. “Just because you have the UV tolerance of an ice cream doesn’t mean that the rest of us don’t actually enjoy sunlight.” 

Draco’s reaction to the Italian spring had given Hermione never ending ammunition to tease him with; especially when he had been performing protection spells on his skin every two hours like clockwork - though it was only April and barely twenty degrees. She had allowed him a brief reprieve from sightseeing for a coffee break on a quaint square, where locals were beginning to gather towards the end of the working day. 

“I still can’t believe you dragged me around all those muggle tourist spots...” 

“Oh come on, even you can’t come to Rome and not see the Colosseum! It’s history!”

“I think I preferred that Sistine thingy – much more civilised.”

“The chapel? Yes, that’s my favourite too.” She sat up to take a drink of her cappuccino. “I’m so glad we got an extra day to explore.” 

“Thanks to your ruthless negotiations yesterday, Granger. I didn’t know you had it in you.” If she didn’t know any better she would’ve said that the expression on his face was genuine admiration. It warmed something in her chest. 

“Yes, well it’s wise not to mess with Hermione Granger,” she joked, rolling her eyes. For some reason she couldn’t quite fathom she wanted to impress him further, to keep that look on his face. “You should ask Harry about what happened to Rita Skeeter in fourth year.” 

He stopped swinging in his chair and sat up straight. “Now this sounds like a story I’d like to hear.” 

Hermione leant across the table towards him. “Actually, now I think about it wasn’t it you and Parkinson who fed a lot of those charming stories to her?” 

Draco’s face went white. On the whole they tended to avoid discussions about their conflicts at Hogwarts. 

“I’m just teasing. Anyway, I worked out that the reason she was able to get so much information was that she was an unregistered animagus. A beetle.” Hermione chewed on her lip, considering that maybe this wasn’t the best story to share.

“And?” he prompted, clearly enthusiastic to hear the rest. 

“I… I captured her in a jar and made her promise not to write anymore of that… nonsense, or else I would –”

“Wait a second, you blackmailed Rita Skeeter?!” If she hadn’t been slightly nervous Hermione would have wet herself at the astonished look on Draco’s face. That same feeling of warmth bloomed in her chest again. Pride. 

“Yes… I suppose you could call it that.” She smirked slightly. 

“Now that’s some Slytherin shit. Are you sure you’re meant to be in Gryffindor?” 

Hermione mocked disbelief, “From Draco Malfoy? Now that’s high praise.” 

He leaned towards her now, a devious smirk playing on his lips and his grey eyes sparkling. “Really, Granger, I’m impressed.”

There it was again, that pang of something in her stomach that she couldn’t seem to escape when she was around him. Quickly, she drained the last of her cappuccino and stood, gathering her bag onto her shoulder. “Should we hit the Spanish Steps before dinner? And then the Trevi Fountain after?”

…

It was nigh on midnight when they had finally returned to the hotel. She had kicked her shoes off as soon as she entered her room but had stretched out on the bed fully clothed, trying to calm the nervous energy within her. The evening had been perfect. There was no other word for it. Perfect location, perfect food, perfect… company. She dragged her hand over her face. She shouldn’t be thinking things like that. She was with Ron. It should be his company she enjoyed above all else. 

Hermione was just contemplating dragging herself off the bed for a cold shower when she heard three short, sharp knocks on the hotel room door. She took a few deep breaths before making her way across the room and opening the door. 

Draco was stood a few feet away, as if he had been pacing before she opened the door. His hair was in disarray and the top few buttons of his shirt undone. 

“Granger, I need to say something to you, about what you mentioned earlier… when we were at school –”

“You don’t have to…” 

He walked towards her. “Yes, I do. I need to tell you that I’m…” 

“It’s okay, I know.” She placed her hand on his upper arm in comfort. “I forgave you a while ago. I know.” His face was contorted in that pained expression she had only seen on him twice before. The first time on that rainy evening in Paris, and then again outside the Christmas ball. 

“I am though. For all of it.” 

An urge overtook her that, looking back, she still didn’t understand; she reached up to brush her lips, feather soft, against his cheek. In that moment it was like every single nerve ending in her body was on high alert, the hair on her arms and the back of her neck standing on end. She didn’t pull away immediately and he turned his head to look at her with his cool, speculative eyes. All sense abandoned her and she used her grip on his shoulder to pull him closer and their lips met.

From the moment that their two sets of lips touched, something was unleashed that couldn’t again be recaptured. Like a dam breaking. Hermione had been aware for some time of the cracks that had been forming, little streams of water had trickled through here and there since Christmas, but now all those cracks bled together and the dam crumbled, letting loose the torrent of emotions that Hermione had been trying so hard to supress. 

She felt him open his mouth to her and she used the opportunity to deepen their kiss. His arms came around her and she melted her body into him, trying to find contact at as many points as possible. It was then that he took control, walking her backwards into the room and allowing the door to swing shut behind them. They stopped just short of the bed and Hermione tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers, allowing her to drag her nails down the small of his back. He moaned into her mouth and then broke away to speckle kisses down her jaw and neck. Gasping, she scratched him again with her nails to show him just how much she approved. 

He allowed his hands to trail down her sides, finding the gentle curve of her waist and hips, briefly cupping her backside, before moving further down her thighs to the hem of her summer dress. She sighed her consent and he promptly pulled the offending garment over her head, leaving her standing in just her knickers. She pressed her body back against him and returned the favour, trailing her own hands down his front to unbutton his shirt, peppering kisses over the pale expanse of chest that she exposed. Pushing the shirt off his broad shoulders she pulled back slightly to admire the light lines and curves of his physique, tracing the angles with her fingertips. As he bent his head to capture her lips again she allowed her hands to find his belt, unbuckling it and then his trousers which she pushed down to his ankles. His mouth stilled. 

“Are you sure, Granger?” he murmured, against her lips. 

“Yes,” she replied walking backwards until her legs hit the edge of the bed. Suddenly, she felt his hands around the backs of her thighs and he lifted her, hitching her up around his hips before crawling onto the bed himself and laying her back against the pillows. He seemed to pause for a second, just to take in the image of her hair splayed out around her, then tangled his fingers in her curls. 

He began to trail kisses over her chest, her breasts, flicking her nipples with his tongue, before progressing south, pecking and nipping at the smooth skin over her stomach. Hermione tilted back her head and sighed in contentment. Then his mouth was gone, and her body cold. She opened her eyes to see him kneeling between her legs, long fingers wrapping around one of her slim ankles and lifting it, dropping his mouth to begin trailing kisses up the inside of her leg. The closer he got to the apex of her thighs the more she trembled, longing for his touch where there was a warm pulse. Then her knickers were gone, dragged down her legs and discarded. She felt his teeth graze the skin at the top of her thigh and hummed her satisfaction. He was teasing her, taking a torturously long time to make his way to where she needed him most. Nipping and licking and sucking all around her centre but without touching that spot. 

“Draco, please…” she keened, arching her back off the bed in desperation. He seemed to approve of that because suddenly he was right there. With one leg flung over his shoulder, his lips clasped gently around her most sensitive spot, applying just the right amount of suction, flicking and rubbing gently with his tongue. Oh Merlin, he knew what he was doing. One finger began to nudge her opening, before slipping inside her, soon joined by another and he softly stroked her inner walls. Of its own accord one of her hands made its way down to grasp his hair, the silky threads slipping right through her fingers. She resorted to scraping her nails along his scalp causing him to hum while his mouth was pressed against her. She couldn’t help the noise that escaped from her mouth then. 

She tugged on his hair now. “I want to feel you… I want you inside me.” 

He crawled back up her body then helped her as she slid her hands down his sides, pushing his boxers down his hips and over his thighs till he was able to kick them off. He settled himself on top of her, one arm either side of her head, his hard length pressing into her inner thigh and most intoxicating of all, his dark grey eyes staring directly into hers. He lowered his mouth to plant a lazy kiss on hers before moving one hand to manoeuvre himself to her entrance. 

He slowly pressed himself inside her, a little at a time, easing in and out, in and out until his full length was pressing into her. 

“Fuuuuuck, Granger,” he groaned, letting his forehead fall briefly against hers. 

She wrapped one leg around his hip, digging her heel into his shapely buttocks and urging him to move, then to make his thrusts faster, harder. He obliged and soon they were both gasping and sighing and moaning, the room filled with the salacious noise of skin meeting skin. His hands seemed to be everywhere; sometimes they were on her breasts, sometimes her waist, sometimes her throat. Hers too, alternating between digging her nails into his shoulders, dragging them down his back, or grasping his behind to pull him deeper into her. The sensations were overwhelming. 

Already sensitive from his earlier ministrations, it wasn’t long before Hermione could feel that delicious tension building in her stomach. Every time he thrust into her he would brush that bud and it would grow, and grow and grow. She breathed into his ear, between gasps, telling him how close she was. ‘Fuck…’ he grumbled in response, and let his sweaty brow drop, his hair tickling her face, as his hips picked up pace. He braced one arm at the side of her head, allowing his other hand to come between them, to where their bodies met. The tension that Hermione had been feeling expanded quickly under his efforts until it broke; her eyes squeezed closed no matter how hard she tried to resist, her toes curled, and her muscles clenched around him as delightful spasms coursed through her body. Her walls were still throbbing as his hips pumped two, three, four more times. She felt his mouth clamp down on the spot just where her neck met her shoulder and he groaned against her, the muscles in his body trembling ever so slightly as he spilled himself into her, and then he stilled. Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him to her, not ready to let go yet. The lust induced haze that had clouded her mind was clearing but she wasn’t quite ready to face reality. Draco wasn’t either apparently. Disentangling himself from her he rolled onto his side, and gathered her against his chest. He summoned the blanket from the foot of the bed to cover them and Hermione allowed her head to settle just underneath his chin. Her body was tired in a pleasant way and she allowed herself to be lulled to sleep by his steady heartbeat and comforting arms. 

…

When she woke in the morning Hermione could tell the bed was empty without even opening her eyes. Sleeping with someone it’s amazing how quickly you adapt to the sound of breathing and the warmth of another body. The room was silent and the bed was cold. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, determined to hold onto the contentment she had felt. She wasn’t willing to wake up fully and face the day. If it wasn’t for the ache she felt in her muscles, in her core, she would’ve been tempted to brand the events of last night a dream.  
But it wasn’t. It was real. And no matter how hard she wished otherwise, she would have to get up at some point. 

Slowly, she extracted herself from the rough hotel blanket, the white sheets of the bed wrinkled beneath her body. Naked, she padded across the room to the ensuite and examined her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was wilder than it had ever been, big and frizzy and matted; her lips were swollen and red and her eyes bright; but it was the purple bruise just at the base of her neck that really captured her attention. No, definitely not a dream. 

She showered methodically, reluctant to wash traces of him off her skin, charmed her hair dry, dressed, and finally stood in front of the mirror again. She debated leaving it, but her rationality, and the guilt blooming in her stomach, made her grab her wand and cast a glamour, covering the only trace remaining of the most perfect night of her life. 

*

Hermione tapped her quill on the edge of her lip for what felt like the millionth time that day. She was having particular trouble organising a visit from the Turkish ministry. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Draco shuffling a stack of papers, a look of pure concentration upon his face, and she fought the urge to sigh. It had been three weeks since they had returned from Rome, and the incident, as she had come to think of it, hadn’t been brought up at all. Not once. When they had met in the hotel lobby the following morning, barely a word was exchanged before they flooed back to the Ministry, and then to their respective homes. The follow week had commenced with a resumption of their usual routine, as if nothing untoward had taken place at all. She had come in to work to find a cup of tea on her desk and Draco hard at work as usual. That had been three weeks ago now. 

Logically, Hermione had convinced herself that this was the best possible outcome. They clearly worked well together and she was romantically involved with someone else; it made sense to put it behind them and act like nothing had happened. The reality though was much more complex. It was as if her body had become hyper-aware of him. She could tell if he walked into a room based purely on the sliver of ice that would run down her back. Working across the room from him felt like being hooked up to electricity, it hummed constantly in the pit of her stomach all day. It was a wonder she got anything done. And the icing on the cake was that Draco didn’t seem the least bit affected. He was his usual, cool, sarcastic self. It was driving Hermione mad. 

Glancing at the clock on the wall she tried to gauge how much longer she had to endure today. She was interrupted by someone entering the office and she looked up to see her red-headed boyfriend standing in front of her. 

“Ron, what are you doing here?” she squeaked, momentarily at a loss as to why he was here. 

Ron gave Malfoy a cautious glance before replying to her. “We have dinner at your parents’ remember? You organised it last week? Said to meet you here after work.” 

Merlin, she couldn’t believe she forgot. She’d had so much on her mind that this one, very important, detail had slipped. 

“Yes of course! I just need to finish this paper work.” She spared a thought for her blond colleague then. “Would you mind waiting down in the lobby? I should be down in five.” 

“Sure, I’ll wait at the visitor’s entrance.” She gave him a grateful smile as he left the office. 

Directing her eyes over toward Malfoy she offered him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I totally forgot he was meeting me here. I should’ve said.” 

Draco barely looked up from his paper, not even the slightest hint of an expression on his face. “I couldn’t really care less when or where you meet.” 

It felt like a stone dropped in Hermione’s stomach. She quickly scribbled her signature at the bottom of the document she had been working on and then shuffled it into a neat pile on her desk. She gathered her things and left the office, with just a mumbled ‘see you tomorrow’ sent in Draco’s direction, before the stinging behind her eyes could develop any further. 

She took the lift down in silence, contemplating the unwarranted rejection she felt from Malfoy’s cool reaction. She had known that the incident meant nothing, she knew he didn’t care, so why did it hurt when he said it? As she left the lift she spotted Ron’s bright hair and approached, accepting the chaste kiss he planted on her lips; but it did nothing to still the storm of thoughts echoing around her head, nor the drum of her erratic heart. 

…

By the Friday of that week Hermione had noticed the tense atmosphere in the office had grown exponentially. She had been in work first this morning, and left the customary hot beverage on Draco’s desk. He didn’t actually arrive into the office until bang on 9am, unusually late for him. He had been quieter than usual too, answering her questions in as few words as possible. 

The clock was ticking painfully slowly to four pm, when they got to finish on a Friday, and she couldn’t remember a day spent in as much silence since their first few weeks working together. 

About ten minutes before they were due to pack up, Edward came bursting into the office, a smile on his rather red face. ‘What on earth does he have to be happy about?’ Hermione wondered to herself. 

“Good news, Draco! I managed to get your transfer approved. You start with the MLE on Monday!” If Hermione hadn’t already been sitting her legs would’ve given way under her. Edward was still speaking to Malfoy but she couldn’t hear what he was saying over the ringing in her ears and the thump of her heart. He seemed to pass on all the required details and then turned to leave. Draco had accompanied him to the door and shook his hand before Edward left, giving Hermione a rather strange look as he did so. It took five deep breaths before Hermione could bring herself to speak. 

“You’re moving?” she asked, not even bothering to control her tone. Draco, to his credit, looked as embarrassed as she had ever seen him. A slight flush had crept into his usually pale skin and he seemed to be biting the inside of his cheek. 

“Yes,” he replied, curt, not giving any more detail. 

Hermione tried to ignore the irrational hurt in her heart and grasped for a logical justification for her extreme reaction. “But why? You’re better at this job than I am! In fact, I’ll bet you any money that you were a shoe in for the job at the end of it.” 

“There was an opening in Law Enforcement that I felt… suited me better.” He looked down at his feet. Hermione rose from her desk, her stomach roiling in trepidation as she made her way towards him. 

She lowered her voice despite them being the only two in the office. “Is this about Rome?” His silence gave her all the answer she needed and she began rambling without thought. “I know things have been tense since then but they don’t have to be! We can act like it never happened, I know I’m not great at hiding my emotions but I can try! We can forget it ever happened –”

“I can’t –”

“Listen, it didn’t mean anything. I’ll forget everything that happened –” 

He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Granger, you’re not listening. I can’t. I can’t forget what happened between us.” He stopped for a second and his intense grey eyes seemed to study her face. They were close enough now that she could feel his breath caressing her skin and the warmth emanating from his body. “I don’t want to forget.” 

Hermione’s mouth formed a silent ‘oh’. He looked at her carefully, trying to gauge her reaction. His eyes scanned her face, before settling on her lips. The pressure on her shoulders released and he was stroking the top of her arms. She felt herself giving in, melting towards him, but then the gravity of what he’d said registered. He didn’t want to forget. He was moving departments because he couldn’t forget. Did that mean? But she was with Ron, good, kind Ron. Ron who was her best friend. And her boyfriend. 

“I… I can’t.” Her bottom lip trembled as she stepped back out of his hold. 

He shook his head, his soft fringe dancing in front of her eyes. “That’s what I thought.” 

She stood there frozen, as he tidied up his desk for the last time and collected his things. He approached her one final time and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Take care, Granger.” 

And then he left. 

…

All weekend Hermione replayed their conversation in her head, analysing every tiny little detail from the movement of his eyes, to the way his hands felt on her shoulders, and the twitch of his mouth. She felt miserable. That was the only word for it. The prospect of going in to an empty office on Monday was tearing her apart. No more tea waiting for her, no more forcing Draco to try muggle biscuits, no more laughter. The internship was due to finish at the end of the month but four weeks without him seemed unthinkable. And after that? She would never see him. Sure, they might run into each other from time to time in the lift, but she would never have the chance to just enjoy his company, his witty repartee, his oddly caring nature. 

What was the alternative she asked herself? He said he didn’t want to, couldn’t, forget what happened between them. Did that mean he… liked her? Liked seemed like the silliest word in the world, the kind of word that thirteen year olds would use. It didn’t carry the nuance required for this scenario. But okay, so if he did like her, what then? The idea of breaking up with Ron – best friend of Harry Potter and another third of the Golden Trio – to take up with Draco Malfoy – reformed Death Eater and School Bully – seemed ridiculous. But that’s what she was considering wasn’t it? The thought terrified her. ...  
She had achieved a total of eight hours of sleep over the course of the whole weekend and she had to drag herself in to work on Monday. All day she sat at her desk, trying to occupy herself with paperwork, trying desperately not to look at the empty desk across the room. Without much success. 

By Tuesday she was nearly tearing her hair out. She had spent her lunch break making a pro-con list. There were significantly more pros under the column titled R and significantly more cons under the one titled D. But nevertheless, by the time she finished work that day she had made her decision. 

*

This was what brought Hermione Granger to Draco Malfoy’s front door, in the middle of the night and in the pouring rain. She had been standing there for a few minutes now, deliberating whether she should just turn around and go home, or be brave, lift her hand, and knock. She repeated her mantra from earlier in the evening – ‘You’re a Gryffindor, be brave.’ 

It didn’t take long for him to open the door. He leaned against the frame and folded his arms across his chest. ‘You took your time.” He looked relaxed, casual, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his collar open at the neck. Enticing, really. She shook her head. 

“What?” 

“My wards told me you were here five minutes ago, I wasn’t sure if you were actually going to knock.” She nodded in understanding but said nothing. He stood back from the door and opened it wider. “Do you want to come in?” 

She entered the hallway but just stood there dripping on his floor runner. He studied her, a blank look on his face, but didn’t prompt her to speak. 

“I broke up with Ron,” she announced finally. 

Draco’s expression didn’t change. “And?” 

She considered his question. Gryffindor – be brave. “I… I miss you. I need you.” The temptation to look down at the floor nearly overwhelmed her but she forced up her chin and looked into his eyes. They were clear and dark, and she couldn’t tell what on earth he was thinking. 

Then suddenly, he pulled her into him and kissed her clumsily, compellingly, and it was all she needed to know. She relaxed into him, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck as that familiar, intoxicating energy began to warm her veins. The relief that had been floating in her chest from earlier bubbled over and she knew that this was it, _this_ was what it was supposed to feel like, _this_ was what had been missing.


End file.
